


(Been Waiting for this Moment) All My Life

by universe



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Team, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universe/pseuds/universe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet to every song from Phil Collins's 'Serious Hits' album. And no, I'm not sorry. (Spoilers for various episodes; partly AU, partly canon-compliant.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [convenientmisfires](https://archiveofourown.org/users/convenientmisfires/gifts).



> for my boo sam for being the best flail-buddy i've had in a while, and because it's her birthday sometime now. <3
> 
> (i don't usually post wips, but since this is a series of unrelated ficlets anyway, i decided to go for it.)

you can run, and you can hide / but i'm not leaving less you come with me  
— _something happened on the way to heaven_

  


(set a while after _poster boy_ )

Sharon knows she shouldn't be hiding away in her office when everyone else is counting down the minutes until the weekend officially starts. But she can't help it; with Rusty constantly being trailed by a bodyguard, neither of them truly feels at home in the apartment any longer. Rusty has taken to locking himself in his room, the rest of the apartment strangely silent after having been properly _lived in_ for the first time since she bought it.

Rusty has already texted saying he'd just had dinner, the surest sign that he's huddled up in his room by now. She can't even blame him, as much as she misses his company. Who knows what she would do if she were in his position. Sharon lets that particular line of thought trail off as the noise from outside suddenly _screams_ 'weekend'—the quick clatter of filing cabinets closing, the clinking of keys, her team discussing what must be dinner plans.

Sharon can't quite make out individual voices, yet alone words, but with a quick glance at the calendar, she remembers today is the team's monthly night out together. A while after she took over Major Crimes, she received a standing invitation—from Provenza of all people; the first sign that he was finally warming up to her—and she's actually taken them up on it once or twice. Not tonight, though. Tonight is the kind of night for going home alone in the dark, eating alone in the glum kitchen usually so filled with life, and then maybe drowning her body in a hot bath while drowning her problems in a bottle of wine.

Only a few more minutes and she'll be free, the rustle outside having quieted down considerably. There's maybe one or two people left now, and they could be cleaning staff, or someone coming down to lock offices.

The knock on the door startles her not by its volume, but rather its insistence. She knows that knock and winces before pulling her best Captain mask back on.

"Come in!"

"Hey, Captain," Lieutenant Flynn says around the half-opened door with his usual smirk, "we're heading out for dinner. You're coming, right?"

It should surprise her, maybe even bother her, that he just assumes she would come, but the truth is it makes her feel a little lighter, the weight on her shoulders a little less, just being reassured that they really consider her part of the team now. Nonetheless, the hot bath and the bottle of wine waiting for her are too enticing.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but I was about to head home."

Something must have shown on her face, a shadow of just how difficult things have become since they learned about the letters, because it takes no longer than a heartbeat or two for his smirk to soften into something so tender it makes her ache.

"Kid still locked up in his room?"

Sharon only nods. She knows the team is almost as miserable as she is; they all care about Rusty in their own way.

"I've tried talking to him, but he won't let me," she says in a quiet voice.

There is another pause in their conversation, another moment for Andy to digest what he's been hearing. He looks a little lost, as though he had hoped for an improvement just as much as she has, but then he shakes himself out of it, and before she knows it, his grin is back.

"Well in that case," he says, looking rather smug, "you _need_ to come to dinner with us."

She wants to mount a protest, she really does, but before so much as a word leaves her mouth, Andy has his finger pointed at her and is shaking his head.

"Nuh uh, don't even think about it. You're coming. And I won't leave here until you do."

This, too, should bother her, this blatant insistence, but the corners of her mouth curl upwards anyway. They stare at each other for what must be at least a minute or so, but when he shows no sign of backing down, she finally sighs and gives up.

"Alright," she says. "Alright, let's go."

If at all possible, the grin on Andy's face has gotten even more smug. She wishes she could wipe it away somehow. Things have been changing between them, and she sometimes feels like she's about to be swept away when he looks at her just so. Not that she's ready to think about what that means.

 

The trip to the restaurant is quiet, everyone else must've left before them, but she doesn't mind so much. It feels comfortable, and reminds her more than a little of driving to Andy's daughter's wedding a few months ago.

Eventually, she asks, "Where exactly are we going, by the way?"

Another smirk, another way her insides feel a little strange, as if they don't belong and are trying to get out through her skin.

"That little Italian place a few blocks from here, Da Gino. It's—"

She interrupts him with a little snort.

"Pizza? You're taking me out for pizza?"

Her laugh is deep and rich, and it's such a startling sound even to her own ears that she realises just how long she hasn't felt this content.

 

Dinner is a quick but pleasant affair, and Sharon smiles when she sees Amy and Julio pretending to fight over one of the seats. The pizza isn't half bad, the wine is better, and the company the best she's had in a while. Everyone stays long after the food is gone, and when they finally start filing out, she doesn't even know how much time has passed. Somehow, all of a sudden, she and Andy are the last ones there, and she's already putting on her coat when she remembers she meant to ask him about something.

"Andy?" she says, and his head whips around as though he's already anticipating her question.

"Why were you so desperate to have me come along tonight?"

He blushes—actually blushes, and she finds that just a little too adorable—before giving her an answer that she doesn't expect.

"I didn't want you to be stuck in your office all night."

Now it's Sharon's turn to blush, but his reply is nothing compared to his next confession, especially once he leans down and takes one of her hands in his.

"And I didn't want to go without you. I... care about you, and I like spending time with you."

His hands tighten around hers, almost as if he's afraid she'll turn around and flee. She wouldn't—won't—, even though she _should_ , but half of her rules have been shot already. _What's one more?_ she thinks, and lets Andy see her wide smile.

They study each other's expressions for a while, and in-between, she fleetingly wonders what he might be thinking. It's not important, though, not yet. He lets go of her hand eventually, but not without hesitation, and Sharon feels her face warm again.

"Good night," she says, voice a little lower than she'd like.

"Night, Captain."

Turning away from him, she realises that she doesn't dread going home as much as she did earlier, and she's more grateful to him for that than she could ever say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DID THIS GET SO LONG AND MESSY? sigh. i finally finished chapter two, though, so here it is, in celebration of our show being back for two months, and because jtotheessica asked so nicely.

there's nothing left here to remind me, just the memory of your face  
— _against all odds_

  


(pre-series and very obviously au)

 

There's something not many people know about Sharon Raydor: She actually knew Andy Flynn before she ever met Jackson.

 

The Chief puts her down as Flynn's partner with a smirk that she doesn't like one bit. She's heard all about him in the rumour mill–only with the department for eight months and already known as a hot-head and a skirt-chaser. None of it is very reassuring, but she picked this job and, by God, she's going to stick with it.

Being his partner turns out to be surprisingly easy. She had counted on more misogyny, but he treats her like he treats everyone else, and that means a lot to her with the things she knows about women in the force. Most importantly, she learns how to trust someone more than she's ever trusted anyone else, and that, too, feels wonderful.

Once or twice a month, then every weekend, they have drinks together after work, and every time, she comes home with her cheeks and stomach aching from laughing until she couldn't.

Things don't change when she meets Jackson; she even brings him along a few times, and rolls her eyes when the guys talk about baseball for two hours straight. For a while, she's as happy with her life as she's ever been.

 

The wedding is everything she hoped it would be, and she's grateful Andy's there to share it with her, despite his own marriage troubles.

She's so filled with joy that she doesn't even realise how many times she's asked to dance, until it's Andy and he's spinning her around and around on the dance floor. There's something in his gaze she can't identify, but he's been smiling at her all day, so she doesn't give it a second thought. Not today.

And when they get ready to leave the whole affair to get started on their honeymoon and Andy looks distracted and uncomfortable, she puts it all on the fact that while she's getting married, he's firmly heading for divorce.

She'll curse herself later for how wrong she was at that moment.

 

It's not plain to see for anyone, not even her, no matter how observant she usually is. She doesn't even think _he_ notices at first.

Jackson decides not to go to the office Christmas party with her. She doesn't mind one bit; most officers tend to show up by themselves. It's a team thing, they always say.

When Andy gets there–an hour late and slightly damp from the drizzle outside–, she takes in his appearance slowly and methodically, from the dark suit over the vest he wears so well, all the way down to wellworn shoes. For a moment, she's reminded of another party like this, a few years ago, when, without noticing it until long afterwards, she spent the entire evening around him, his hand hovering constantly near her back and her own touching his chest and shoulders again and again.

No date on his arm either tonight, she thinks with what she knows is misplaced satisfaction, and hopes he'll come right over to her side.

He does, and she smirks into her champagne.

The party is like any other, filled with laughter and more than enough alcohol for those few that haven't taken their own car tonight. At some point, mistletoe mysteriously shows up, out of nowhere, and Sharon rolls her eyes at everyone's antics. It feels like all her coworkers get trapped under the little green sprig at some point—some more than others, she thinks–, but so far she's been able to avoid it, tactically side-stepping every possible danger.

Andy doesn't let her get through the evening without a kiss, though, and she doesn't know whether to dive right in or wipe that smirk off his face some other way. People are starting to whoop and cheer around them as they've done for other couples in the past hour or so, and they both grin at each other for a moment. It's all in good fun, until he suddenly grabs her waist and pulls her close, his lips warm and soft against hers.

She counts the seconds in her head until it's appropriate to pull back, but then his tongue runs across her lips and she's lost. It's in the way he possesses her with a single kiss, the way they come together like she and Jack never have. It's in his heart beating as feverishly against her palm as her own does against her chest. She can't think beyond need and want, and that finally makes her snap out of the moment.

When she looks around, everyone is still cheering them on, so the kiss must not have lasted as long as it felt, but she's still self-conscious enough to make her exit quickly, thinking that if she's lucky, only Andy will notice her absence.

She goes home to Jack and sleeps next to him in their bed, and doesn't think about the incident for months.

 

With her car in the shop, Andy has been picking her up and driving her home a whole week when, one evening, they end up at a bar instead. There's no particular reason other than they'd both be alone in their respective homes–Jack's gone to Vegas for the weekend to meet with a client, and Andy hasn't seen his family in ages.

It feels just like old times until she realises he's already had a beer and several shots of something that can only be whisky while she's still nursing her first glass of wine. Andy doesn't see the frown on her face, doesn't notice that it gets deeper as the evening passes. Sharon knows she should say something, but she doesn't know what or how, so she just watches him and tries to listen.

She ends up having to drive _him_ home, with the plan of taking his car back to her place and driving over the next day, but somehow, Andy thwarts that plan without having to do much at all.

Barely managing to drag him out of the seat and up the stairs, she thinks he'll have the worst hangover ever in the morning, so she sits him down on his couch and makes him drink water until he refuses to drink any more. She goes to help him lie down, but instead of moving towards his bedroom, he slowly walks her to a wall, his hands finding her waist. She looks up and her breath catches at the look in his eyes, finding desire there, and something that could possibly be– No, she thinks. No.

"Sharon," he slurs, but doesn't say anything else. Instead, he leans down and presses his mouth to hers just like he did at that Christmas party, and it all comes rushing back to her. For a moment, she can't do anything but react and pull him closer, but soon the alcohol on his tongue makes it hard for her to breathe, and she pulls away.

"I love you."

It's out before she even knows what to expect. She can't stop him from saying it anymore, she can't make it go away. The only consolation she has is that he'll have forgotten all about it in the morning, but she can see in his eyes that he _means_ it, that it's only a drunken confession in so far as he needed to be drunk to reveal it to her. Because he knows it can never happen, and that thought inexplicably makes her heart ache.

Before he can say anything else, or try something she'll have a hard time resisting, he slumps forward and she has to catch him so he doesn't hit the floor. Thankfully, his bed is only a few steps away, and she unceremoniously dumps him on it, not bothering to take off his shoes.

She makes her way back into his kitchen, a hand rubbing against her forehead. Her movements are automatic, if not habitual; rummaging through his medicine cabinet for aspirin and filling another glass with water–she remembers them well from her youth and the few times Jack's come home drunk.

A part of her even considers staying and making sure Andy is alright in the morning, but when she gets back to his side, she's suddenly so angry at him for telling her something that should never have been spoken aloud that she thinks he'll deserve being miserable once he wakes up.

She still pulls a blanket over him before she leaves.

 

They never talk about that night, either, and she's relieved that he really doesn't seem to remember a thing. Especially since she's been feeling weak and sickish lately, and wouldn't be prepared for that particular discussion.

Two weeks, three early-morning instances of vomiting, and one doctor's appointment later, she knows what's been making her feel this way, and tries not to shout it through the streets the minute she's outside. She's got to tell Andy, right after she tells Jack, and she can't get home quickly enough.

Before she gets to Andy, though, Jack throws something at her she hadn't expected–a suggestion she can't help but take into account now that she's going to have a baby–a _baby_ –, but one that makes her stomach clench nonetheless. A new city, a new life...

Jack is right, though, she decides after a few hours. Their child deserves more than this, more than a mother who's constantly at work and always risks never coming home again. She tries not to think about what _she_ will be doing once the baby is off to kindergarten. There will be time later to figure that out.

 

Telling Andy is surprisingly hard, and she tries not to think about why that might be either, especially once they're holding hands in his car and she doesn't know how to let go.

Everything afterwards is a rush–quitting her job, cleaning out their house and putting it on the market, buying a new one on the other side of the country, and settling into this strange new life.

It isn't until her third trimester that she thinks about Andy–really thinks about him, and suddenly misses him as though he were her next breath. Jackson is gone again for a few days, in constant motion while she feels like she's only ever standing still, and she cries herself to sleep that night thinking about a bar, loud laughter, and the only partner she's ever had.

 

\-----

 

There's something no one knows about Andy Flynn: He fell in love with Sharon Raydor the first time he laid eyes on her. Before her name was Raydor, before he even knew her name at all.

She introduces herself, sharp and sure, and there's something in the way she holds herself, as though her spine was made of steel, that reassures him in a way nothing else ever has. With her as a partner, he'll never have to be afraid.

It doesn't take her long to prove herself either; an impromptu car chase and two gunshots later, she has a case wrapped up without anyone getting hurt—not even the freak of a guy she just cuffed and handed over. It's not the way she casually leans against her car, it's not even the little smirk on her face as she sees him drive up to the scene, that makes him falter. He's seen both before, on her and so many others, the satisfying feeling of catching a bad guy before anyone else does. No, what really does him in is the sparkle in her eyes, a light he hasn't noticed there before. And it intrigues him like nothing else ever has.

He doesn't say or do anything. It's definitely too early, probably far too messy, and most likely a disaster waiting to happen, but he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time, and that is enough for now.

 

Everything is perfect for a while. They meet for drinks sometimes, have dinner—alone as well as with the rest of the team—, until the day when his resistance almost buckles.

It's the day of the department's annual Christmas party, and the moment she walks into the room, he struggles to take a breath. His lungs start burning, his heartbeat high in his throat, but even in his stupor, he recognises the dress she's wearing is slung so tightly around her that his fingers itch.

His face feels like it's on fire, and he must be coughing because someone is slapping him on the back twice, and then he's already moving toward her, pulled further and further by some invisible thread that has held him captive for longer than he'd care to admit.

By the time he reaches her, he's built up just enough courage to take her hand and whisper in her ear.

"You look gorgeous, Sharon."

His nose still nearly buried in her hair as he inhales–just once, quickly so she won't notice–, he misses the blush that crosses her neck and settles right in her cheeks.

Five hours and three dances later, he realises he hasn't left her side all night, but she hasn't complained once. He takes that as a good sign.

 

Later, the joy of that evening would be dimmed by another memory from only days later, one that would destroy a family and rip apart a team.

They're all supposed to be on vacation between Christmas and New Year's, but after switching shifts back and forth between them, Ryan had been stuck on call for the whole week while his partner got to spend the holidays with his wife and kids. Andy tries not to think about that, tries desperately not to imagine how he would feel if something like this happened to Sharon and him.

They didn't come to the funeral together, not really, but somehow, they've ended up next to each other, and he's grateful for that now because it gives him the chance to take her hand in his and squeeze, hold on until the pressure on his chest lets up enough for him to breathe. When he looks around, he sees others doing the same thing, sticking close to their partners somehow; a supportive arm here, an understanding hand on a shoulder there...

So many people relying on each other, Andy thinks, and they're reminded yet again of how quickly it can all end. Sharon's hand in his is the one thing that keeps him grounded throughout the day.

 

They've established their routines, and Andy has for the most part managed to lock away any inappropriate feelings he might harbour for his partner, instead trying hard to keep his marriage from falling apart.

A year passes, then another, and somewhere in between, she meets a guy, Jack something or other—a lawyer, as far as Andy knows. It doesn't take long until they're engaged, then married, and if he has a second drink each night, it has nothing whatsoever to do with that. Or so Andy tells himself.

And if he gets dead drunk one evening and wakes up in the morning with no memory beyond her in his space, it means nothing either.

 

It's an unusually freezing day in the depth of winter when she tells him the news. The weather itself should have been a sign—he almost didn't get up when he heard the forecast on the radio that morning. He should've stayed in bed.

She meets him in the parking lot out front, and he wonders for a moment why she might be waiting for him, anxious from the look of it. He isn't used to her being anything but entirely sure of herself on the job, and seeing her like this rattles him more than he'd like to admit.

They get in his car, not saying a word, and without even thinking about it, he turns on the engine to keep them both warm. Their breaths mingle, tendrils of humid warmth fogging the window.

He watches her silently, waiting for her to spill. She blows into her fists and then rubs her palms together once, then again while she takes a deep breath, as if fortifying herself for what is to come, and a dark, cold dread settles in his stomach.

"I'm pregnant."

That– That is not what he expected. At all. Between thinking she might be dying and fearing she found out how he felt about her, he's never considered it might be good news, and despite the jealousy he privately admits to, the sheer relief makes him laugh out loud.

"That's great, Sharon! Congratulations!"

She smiles slightly, and even if it's nothing like her usual smile, he can see glow behind it, mysterious and new, but something isn't right. She looks too tense.

"What is it, Sharon? Is everything okay?"

He points roughly towards her midriff, and it seems to take her a few seconds to figure out what he means.

"Oh!" she says, wide eyes replaced by a wide grin. "No, everything is fine. Perfect."

"Then what is it? Are things alright with Jack? Have you told him yet?"

He almost asks if her husband even wants the baby, but holds himself back at the last second. Some questions are still off-limits.

"No, we're great. I just told him this morning, and he was ecstatic."

She smiles again, wistfully this time, and he just can't wrap his head around the reason, until words leave her mouth that he never expected to hear. Ever.

"I'm quitting the LAPD. We're moving to the East Coast. Jack says he'll find clients there more easily, maybe a firm to take him in."

 _Everything good ends quickly, Andrew,_ his mother used to say. He never believed her until now.

"What about you?" he manages to rasp. "What will _you_ do?"

"I don't know." That wistful smile again, and now he understands. She's used to working hard, to the long hours they keep, and the prospect of losing that independence scares her. "But I can't be an officer and constantly have to worry about getting home in time, let alone getting shot on the job. It's... not fair to anyone."

He doesn't say anything, afraid he might ask if changing her entire life around was in any way fair to _her_ (or fair to _him_ , but that's a whole other question neither of them is ready for–not now, and probably not ever, and that thought makes fury rise inside him).

"Andy, I'm–"

"Shhh," he says, and puts a hand over one of hers, squeezing slightly when all he wants to do is punch his fist against the window until it breaks–his hand, the window, either would be fine with him. Instead, he keeps his fingers entwined with hers, and together, they sit in silence.

He really should've stayed in bed.

 

The transition is a quick one, but it's by no means easy, at least not for Andy, and a small, defiant part of him hopes she's suffering just as much.

It's the same part of him that throws out all the mementoes not a week after she's left–from the pens he's snagged from her desk over the years to the Dodgers cup she gave him for his last birthday.

And it's the same part that makes him stop at the bar at night, on the way home from the office, and that orders him more drinks than he'd been able to stomach just a few months ago.

He tried to call her a few times– _seven_ –, but always failed to actually speak to her. The first time, when he was still in denial, he made it as far as the second ring before he hung up. The next time, it was the dial tone after entering her number. And things just went downhill from there. Now, he doesn't even bother trying anymore, and every time he thinks about giving it another go, he immediately shoves the thought as far away as he can.

He keeps waiting to move on, knows that if _she_ only called _him_ , he would forgive her, but she never does, and somehow, he knows he won't ever escape that anger again.

All memories of her and their time together are tainted now, and sometimes he wishes they had never met.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and sort of not really what i wanted it to be, but i have been harassed – [harassed](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/5742604) i say! – for another chapter in this series. ;) there ya go, jtotheessica! i will try not to take this long again, but no promises.

she's got a heart must be made of stone  
— _who said i would_

 

(pre-series and 'out of bounds')

 

The crunch of Amy's jaw under Lamar's fists makes all of them sick to the stomach. Andy sees the Captain press her fist to her mouth, and he'd feel sorry for her if he wasn't close to throwing up himself.

They hold their breath, too, until Sanchez finally knocks the dirtbag and his gun off of Sykes, but the relief doesn't come until later, when they know she's alive and on the mend.

Provenza rushes out, Taylor's curses ring through the room, but the Captain is eerily quiet next to him. He watches her for a moment, about to ask her if she's alright when she stalks out of the room with purposeful strides, and no one dares walk after her.

 

Not much later, before they interrogate the runner kid, Andy sees her through the open blinds, sitting in her office, and knows with a single glance how she feels. It doesn't surprise him that he can do that, tell what she's feeling from just one look, or at least not anymore. She's beating herself up while looking to the world like she's busy, working hard on catching the killer. And she probably is, but at the same time, she's blinking too often and occasionally wiping her nose on tissues she usually hides in a drawer.

The image gives him pause.

Only a few months ago, he wouldn't have given a damn. Wouldn't have cared even if she was falling apart. And, in all honesty, wouldn't have expected her to show her emotions at all. How he ever could have thought her cold or unfeeling, he doesn't know. She has an _abundance_ of feeling, spilling over with it. You only have to be around her and Rusty for an hour, or hear her voice catch around the words 'sexual assault' when working a case, to know that there is nothing that gets by Sharon Raydor and leaves her unaffected.

He wants to slap himself now. Back in the day when he was out drinking with Jack Raydor, before things went bad for both of them (or really: when things were already going bad for them), he had seen her a couple of times, once at their home, feeding their infant son while he and Jack were sharing a six-pack over a football game, and then again a few years later, when she picked up her drunken husband from a bar, face glowing despite the late hour, her left hand resting softly on her swollen belly.

He thought maybe she had closed herself off since then, locked her emotions away (away from booze and gambling and abandonment), but he's been wrong all along. There's nothing cold or unfeeling about her, nothing icy and surely nothing wicked. He doesn't even know why they called her names during all those years. If only they'd taken the time—if only _he_ had—to get to know her better… She didn't deserve any of it. He wants to slap himself now.

 

Hours later, everyone's going home and she's holed up in her office again, so Andy decides it's time to intervene before she ends up spending all night wrapping up paperwork that can definitely wait until tomorrow. He knows Provenza has already talked to her about this, but it seems that didn't stick. He's not surprised that she's still beating herself up, though.

He knocks and enters without waiting for a reply. She looks at him, but her eyes don't meet his; the empty stare lands somewhere near his left shoulder.

"Time to call it a night," Andy tries, but the answer is written on her face immediately. She doesn't plan on going home any time soon.

"How are you holding up?" is his next attempt as he, again without being prompted, sits down in the chair opposite her. It squeaks a little under his weight, the only sound in the room until her loud exhale as she gets up, pretending to look for a file in her cabinet.

"I'm fine."

Andy joins her on the other side of the table, and stands closer to her than he ever has before. There's a strand of hair that curls in front of her face, and he brushes it back behind her ear without thinking. It's way past any line they may or may not have drawn, but right now, she could fire him and he wouldn't care.

She ordered Amy into the field as easily as a Commander would his legion of soldiers into war. Sometimes he wonders if she knows the effect she has on people. They'd follow her into fire and beyond.

Andy knows he won't have much time once he starts talking, she'll want to be alone and will have no problem walking out on him.

"We all would've done what she did, if you'd sent any of us in her place," he says. "But she's more capable than we are, and that's why you sent _her_. We are all jealous of the things she can do that we can't anymore. We all wanted to be out there."

It's not enough, not yet.

"Nothing could've stopped Amy from doing her job. And nothing did."

That's when her eyes snap up to his, and he can almost _see_ the change in them. She's less desperate and more angry now. It's a good start.

He smiles.

"Either way," she says, "this can't ever happen again."

Andy nods, and adds "We'll make sure it doesn't."

The Captain has stopped looking at him and busies herself with packing her bag. He mentally pats himself on the back for getting her out of the worst of this funk. She looks a little better when they get on the elevator, a little less weighed down by the world, and he makes a silent promise to himself to always be there if anything like this ever happens again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's entirely possible that this will be the last installment in this series. i had planned on writing a fic for each song, but i haven't been able to write anything in three years, so i thought i'd finally put up what was going to be chapter nine (as it is the ninth song). it was the first one i wrote, originally, and the reason for this entire series in the first place. if i ever get back into this fandom, i might add more. also, i'm sorry?

  
been waiting for this moment all my life  
— _in the air tonight_

  


(season two-ish)

The shot echoes in her ears long after the bullet has hit its target. She doesn't think much of it until she feels warm blood seeping through her clothes, but the absence of pain can only mean one thing.

"Andy!"

He's lying half on top of her, half on the concrete floor, and when she wriggles out from under his arm, a gasp lodges itself in her throat.

His entire left side is bright red, his face ashen, and if he's feeling anything other than pain, she can't tell from his expression at all. Distantly, she hears someone shout "Officer down!", but it's almost drowned out by Andy's wheezing.

"It's alright," she tries to calm him (and herself), "You'll be okay."

It is an empty promise. He's lost too much blood already, and it will be at least a few minutes before help comes. She doesn't let herself think about it. Nor about the fact that if she hadn't been there, if he hadn't pushed her down to protect her, none of this would be happening.

Sharon wasn't even _supposed_ to be there. She had once decided to let Provenza handle the bulk of the crime scenes—an agreement to ease the transition back when everyone hated her—, and she's sticking by that decision for the most part. But she's been feeling so _restless_ lately, as though something dark and evil was coming, as though she needed to do something about it. All she can do about it now is hold his hand and watch as he takes his last breaths.

His eyes are starting to flutter shut, and that jerks her out of her stupor.

"Andy! Stay with me! Help is on the way. You'll be alright."

He shakes his head as much as he can manage, and his feeble attempt at speech ends in a cough instead.

"Shh," Sharon says, "don't talk. You need your strength. Everything is going to be okay."

It looks as if he wants to protest for a second, and that little spark in his eyes makes her heart flutter in relief, but then he seems to think better of it, swallowing hard around his tongue.

She hears steps behind her, then the hushed voices of her team—Amy asking if Lieutenant Flynn is going to be alright, Julio grunting in reply. They all know the answer anyway.

His hand is ice-cold in hers by now, and she tries to rub the warmth back in. He shakes his head again, but grips her fingers a little more tightly, meeting her eyes to make sure he has her full attention.

"I told—" Another cough, another wheezing breath. "I told you I'd never let anything happen to you."

For half a second, she doesn't know what he's talking about, but then his eyes get darker, and she remembers—remembers when they were both rookies on their first case together, a routine procedure that turned lethal once shots were fired. They'd never been in the direct line of fire, but one of their superiors had been, and hadn't lived to tell the tale. She remembers the blood all over her hands as they'd tried to keep him alive, her frantic pacing back and forth afterwards. She remembers Andy walking up to her, his hand on her arm, his face nearly as white as it is now.

"C'mon, Raydor," he'd said, steering her to a stone step outside. "Sit down." She doesn't remember what she said in response, exactly, but she knows she must have been babbling and crying because he offered his shoulder and somewhere in her panic, whispered a promise in her ear—that he would protect her as long as he was able.

She hasn't thought about the moment in two decades, hadn't even taken it seriously, if she was honest. She had panicked and he'd been there to help her through it, not at all uncommon for new partners. But then, she _had_ transferred to IA a few weeks later, and no matter how often she'd said it over the years, it wasn't entirely because of the career opportunities.

Andy's eyelids are getting heavier along with his limbs, and Sharon can almost _see_ the fight trickle out of him.

"I should have taken you off Major Crimes years ago. God knows your jacket was thick enough..."

None of this would be happening now if she had. None of it.

"You wouldn't have," he rasps, a pained smile stretching his lips. It's the smile she's seen so much of lately, the one that makes her think of happier times. Like always, it sparks a mirroring grin on her own face.

"No, I wouldn't have."

He actually chuckles for a heartbeat or two, but then it turns into a weak cough, his forehead creasing in concentration.

"They're here!" Amy shouts before Sharon can even hear the sirens. She leans in closer to whisper.

"I wish I had taken you off Major Crimes. I wish you hadn't pushed me away and taken that bullet for me. Please, Andy. Don't—"

She's interrupted by one of the medics softly pushing her aside. What would she have said anyway? "Don't die"? No. Saying it would make it real, and _this cannot be real _. Any minute now, she'll wake up and realise it was all a silly dream. She'll drink a little more coffee than usual, put on a little more makeup, and watch him— _all_ of them—a little more closely from her office. _Just a dream. This can't be real. _____

____But it _is_ , and the fact that the hand that lands on her shoulder belongs to Provenza of all people makes it all the more so. Andy, shot. Andy, dying. It's not a reality any of them can live with, but also one none of them can do a damn thing about._ _ _ _

____All she can do is pray that somehow, they can still save him, that he'll still be there tomorrow._ _ _ _


End file.
